


The Black Stallion

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:36:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: “Was that a hors-”“Don’t.  Just don’t.”“But that was definitely a …”“Trust me, you do not want to know.”





	The Black Stallion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ/DW's WhatIf AU "Crack" challenge
> 
> Inspired by a prompt in LJ's Comment fic

“Was that a hors-”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

“But that was definitely a …”

“Trust me, you do not want to know.”

There was the sound of hooves clip clopping into the distance.

“John Watson, what exactly is going on?” Greg Lestrade demanded.

“Nothing that needs to concern you.”

“And where is Sherlock? I thought you said we would be meeting him.” Greg paused. “No, don’t tell me. Sherlock’s become a horse.”

Silence.

“Watson, speak to me.”

“You told me not to.”

“Great. The one and only consulting detective, solver of mysteries too complicated for any normal person to solve, is now a horse. Tell me, how does he manage without a coat to swirl and make a statement?”

“He’s quite effective with his mane. And anyway, it’s only temporary. Probably.”

“You’re right, I don’t want to know. Let’s forget he’s doing a good impersonation of Mister Ed …”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Is he still able to help us in the case?”

“Us?”

“Oh, yes! You brought the horse, you get to shovel the …”

“I get the picture. Would it help to call him back?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who’s communicating with him.”

John took out his phone and sent a text.

“You’re texting a horse?”

“His mobile’s attached to his head collar. I send one message for ‘I need you’ and two for ‘keep away’”

The clip clopping returned, and Greg saw a black stallion approaching.

“Good horsey,” Greg said.

The stallion laid its ears back and bared its teeth.

“He can hear you perfectly well,” John said.

“And I can speak,” the horse said. The voice sounded like Sherlock’s, but as if he was speaking through grass.

“Can you tell me anything about the case?” Greg asked.

“The man you want is on the fourth floor in the apartment block to your right. Ms Wainwright is almost certainly still with him; he won’t have had time to have arranged for her to be taken elsewhere yet.”

“Right, then let’s not hang about,” Greg said.

“What am I supposed to do?” the horse asked.

“Come with us. It’s a posh apartment block, they’ll have a lift.”

Greg showed his warrant card to the handyman who was working just outside the block. He opened the door, and, as the horse trotted up, he said, “Oy, you can’t …” His objections were ignored.

The horse managed to insert itself into the lift with a bit of a squeeze. It had to reverse out on the fourth floor, but finally all three of them were standing outside the suspect’s apartment.

“How are we going to get in?” John said. “He’s not likely to open the door to you.”

The horse turned round again, leaned forward, bucked and kicked the door open with its back hooves. It then proceeded to reverse into the apartment.

“What are you doing?” the suspect demanded to the horse’s rear end.

“My saviour!” Ms Wainwright exclaimed.

She leapt onto the back of the horse, the two of them exited the flat, and John and Greg heard them clip clopping down the stairs.

“Is that legal?” the suspect demanded.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to ask that,” Greg replied. “Now would you like to come quietly, or do I have to call the horse back?”


End file.
